


'Til Death We're Apart

by theslyknave



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Dream Bubble, F/M, I know it looks like sadstuck but it's also really cute, kind of AU but also not really because Homestuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-23
Updated: 2012-12-23
Packaged: 2017-11-22 04:48:34
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,068
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/605987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theslyknave/pseuds/theslyknave
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Karkat Vantas realizes that he's been a huge assmuffin, but he can't do anything about it until he's dead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	'Til Death We're Apart

**Author's Note:**

> Giftfic for Toby.

A tear, translucent pink, hit the steel floor of the back hallway with a sharp _plink_. Out of habit, you scrub at your face to rid it of the evidence of your blood color - even though there is no one around - but you do not take your eyes off of the mural on the wall before you. 

It was a depiction of two trolls, much larger than those beside them to signify importance. Their eyes were closed and they seemed to be smiling even as they kissed. Hearts floated around them, and the drawing was labeled ‘OTP’.

Another tear hit the floor, but this time the sound was drowned out by a loud, echoing _honk_.

You jump spectacularly at the sound and whirl around to find Gamzee much closer than expected.

“Gamzee,” you say, fighting to keep your voice level while it feels like your blood pusher is attempting to do an acrobatic fucking pirouette onto the floor. Tear tracks are still on your face, but you don’t dare move to wipe them away for fear of drawing attention to them.

Gamzee grins, a macabre imitation of his usual lazy smile. His eyes are too wide and he has too many teeth - fuck, they even look _sharper_. His stance makes you uncomfortable and defensive; he is leaning forwards, the balance on the balls of his feet making him ready to pounce at any moment. His arms are cocked back, the fingers of his free hand splayed and crooked, and of the other, wrapped around a club.

“Hey, Karbro,” Gamzee says, voice much more quiet than usual.

The hair on the nape of your neck stands on end. Your own stance shifts - fingers flexing subconsciously, ready to call your sickles from his specibus, arms gravitating inwards in preparation for defense. You are ready to move as well, but for fight or flight your body hasn’t yet decided. Gamzee, however, clearly intends to fight, should he deem it necessary.

_Plink. Plink._

In your state of heightened adrenaline, you hear the sound of liquid on steel, but this time it is not from you.

Gamzee’s smile widens grotesquely, and he takes a step forwards out of the shadows. Running down his face are three jagged, deep cuts, splitting further with every bit his cheeks climb. He is either ignorant to the pain or happy for it, as the indigo droplets roll down his face. A few catch on his lips, and he smears them over his mouth with his tongue.

You make to take a step closer, one hand coming up to reach for him (because dammit even if he _is_ psycho you can’t help but want to clean his wounds and bandage them, can’t help but feel pale for this wreck of a troll), before stopping in your tracks.

Because the light glints now off of Gamzee’s club, and it is not only indigo blood slapping the floor.

In the corner of your eye, you can still see see the same color green that cloaked the club, cloaking the artistically rendered figure that had been drawn kissing you. 

In the place of any pale feelings, there begins to grow rage. “You-!”

“Kitty-sis put up a fair fight,” Gamzee says conversationally. “BUT NOW SHE’S MOTHERFUCKIN’ DEAD.” The last line was screamed, reverberating in the small hallway long after it had been pushed over vocal chords that were much stronger than you had thought.

Instead of fleeing, as you might have done in another timeline, your rage blossoms and fuels your pounce, sickles drawn out mid-leap, face contorting in blind fury.

Gamzee swats you to the side as though you’re nothing but a winged fruit-insect, wrenching one sickle from your grip as you hit the wall opposite the murals.

Dazed, your breath knocked out of you, you struggle to get back up. His foot presses down hard on the top of your chest, effectively pinning you to the ground. You swing your arm unthinkingly, and your sickle finds purchase deep within Gamzee’s thigh. The highblood gives no reaction but for an unevening of breath. 

“She was just-” 

You don’t want to say ‘a little girl’, because technically she was older than you, and by no means defenseless, but... she had always seemed so much younger. Like she needed to be sheltered and protected by the cruelty of your race, your world. Like her thinkpan had developed differently. She was the troll who attempted to be kind to everyone, who only wanted friends, who strove to include you in Terezi’s bullshit memos, when you had been nothing but horrible to her. Who would draw something like what she had on the wall before you, when you had been nothing but _horrible_ to her. 

Gamzee follows your line of sight, and you can practically _hear_ the tearing of his skin as the chilling smile grows impossibly wider. 

“You’re a bit late, aren’t you?”

Weakly, you bare your teeth and snarl, but the sound is cut short by Gamzee’s foot repositioning itself on your throat.

You jerk violently, eyes widening in panic, frantically grabbing Gamzee’s ankle to try to _get it off_ , desperately trying to take in air.

“DON’T WORRY, KARBRO,” his former friend shouts over his heartbeat. “I’m sure you’ll be all up and seeing her again real motherfuckin’ soon.”

Your sickle is yanked out of his leg with a rip and a wet _schick_ , before it is pressed to your neck, just above Gamzee’s foot.

You manage to summon a last pleading look, but the highblood simply smiles and slices once, cleanly, not bothering to stick around long enough for you to die.

Blood burbles from your mouth and open neck, your own heart helping you to bleed out and grow cold in a forgotten corridor of the lab.

…

“Equius?” You hear, from somewhere far away. “Equius, where are you?!”

The voice is high and panicked, and suddenly you are back in the lab, dragging Sollux away from danger as best you can, thinking he could probably do a better job of leading you and he’s _blind_ , and your blood-pusher is pounding in your ears as you try not to trip over own feet in your haste.

“KK, do you hear that?”

You stop, listen. The noise repeats, a terrified shriek, somewhere in the lab.

“It’s AC,” Sollux gasps, and you immediately find somewhere for him to hide before tearing off in the direction of the sound.

It doesn’t repeat.

You start to lose hope, but just then you spot a door, slightly ajar. You push through it to find a gallery of ships, speculated outcomes of minimal interactions.

“Nepeta,” you call, but your own voice merely echoes back at you. 

Have you lost someone else? Have you failed again? How many deaths are you responsible for? Who could it have been this time? Vriska? Eridan? Gamzee?

A final mural catches your attention. This, on top of everything else, makes you tear up. You heart hurts. You’re choking up. Hang on, that’s more than usual. Your throat feels numb. And something is missing. Something that is supposed to happen now, doesn’t. But how do you know that? This has only happened once... right?

Gamzee never comes, and you slowly realize that yes, this has all been done before. Immediately after, there is a sharp sting in your neck. You touch it, gingerly. It’s open, and the blood there is wet, but it stopped bleeding further. Mutant red soaks your shirt, but you don’t care because you hear Nepeta again, closer.

“Equius, this isn’t funny! _Please_ , where are you?!”

It’s coming from the grate to your left. The grate is removed easily enough, and you are for the first time happy for you shorter stature, as it allows you to crawl through the vents with little difficulty. 

“Nepeta,” you call again, and the sound of agitated pacing halts.

“... Karkat?”

Her response tells you which direction to turn, and you find the right exit quickly. Her eyes snap up to you as soon as you see her, and she gasps.

You think about the sight you must make, and grimace.

“You’re dead,” she observes.

You look her over. Her hair is matted with blood and there are green bruises on her forehead. Her eyes are completely white. 

“So are you,” you say quietly, the closest to gentle you can get.

There is a pause.

“How the fuck do I get down from here?”

That draws a surprised giggle from her, and then a stronger laugh as you are suddenly your normal ornery self again.

You can’t help but think that it sounds nice. 

She sets to work moving a few crates to make a lesser drop from the vents for you. 

You turn around and carefully lower yourself, kicking around for the topmost box before your foot collides with it. You settle your weight onto it, but the kick had put it off balance, so it falls, you not far behind, to the floor. You flinch, but you don’t hit the ground. 

Instead, Nepeta is quick enough and strong enough to catch you, one arm under your knees and the other under your upper back, wrapping around to your side.

You blush, because you’re a stupid wriggler who just fell ass-backwards out of a vent. You blush, because Nepeta’s eyes are wide and full of mirth. You blush, because she looks like she hasn’t bathed in perigees and her hair hasn’t been brushed and her green overcoat has holes in it from overuse, and she is _still_ the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

You’re flushed for her.

God _dammit._

You cough, awkwardly, and you look away as she takes the cue to put you down. You rub the back of your neck. 

“Have you seen Equius?” she asks suddenly.

You shake your head, and she turns hers away, but not before you see pale green welling up in her eyes.

“Gamzee...” she swallows, and her claws extend and retract reflexively, and she doesn’t need to say anything else. You had sent Equius off to try to fight at least one of the murderous psychopaths frolicking about the meteor, and you are immediately flooded with guilt. You can see in your mind’s eye what must have happened all too clearly. 

You hear a small sob, and your blood pusher pumps liquid pity through your veins.

You fall over yourself to go to her, wrap your arms around her, unthinkingly pressing your lips to her temple. “I’m sure he’s around in this afterlife clusterfuck palooza, probably stomping around and sweating his thigh-high socks off looking for you.”

She froze. Fuck, was that too comforting? Here she is, worrying about her missing dead moirail, and you’re acting borderline pale towards her. 

You take a step back too quickly, holding up your hands defensively. “Wait, no, that came out too conciliatory, I didn’t mean- what I want to say is-” 

What do you want to say?

She’s looking at you. 

Don’t fuck this up.

You’ve already fucked this up.

Past you is an idiot.

“Karkitty?”

“I’mflushedforyou!” you blurt out, wanting to vanish as soon as you say it. 

You stay stubbornly visible.

“... What?”

Well, it’s out there, now. Might as well commit to it.

“I’m way the fuck late to this whole reciprocation thing, if I even am reciprocating anything anymore, I mean that could have changed while I was busy being an enormous braybeast’s ass taking the biggest maggot-attracting shit ever conceived by the Horrorterrors of the furthest ring-”

You lost where you were going with this metaphor.

“-but I think that... for a while... you may have been flushed for me? And I’m... well, I pity you. A lot. And if you still feel the same way, I -”

She cuts you off by tackling you to the ground and kissing you soundly on the lips. 

Oh.

Well.

Your brain needs a few minutes to figure out that it should probably be telling you how to breathe and, you know, go through normal bodily functions. 

She beams down at you. 

You don’t smile back.

You don’t.

Karkat Vantas doesn’t smile.

(You give her the biggest, dopiest smile of your existence.)

(She kisses you again for your troubles.)

(Past you is a fucking genius.)

(Current you isn’t doing too bad either.)

(Future you better not fuck this up.)

(For now, though, you think this is pretty much perfect.)


End file.
